Out of the Darkness
Disclaimer: This work humbly uses the imaginative ideas based on the
wonderful books by J.K. Rowling.
Chapter 1
What is a life without love? An empty shell with no fire or feeling left. If you look in their eyes you can see the soul of that person has left and the body itself has become broken. This is the image in which anger, fear, and hate are born. This was me. I had no past, no present, and no future. I carried out orders without thought; like a robot with a metal heart. How could I know the soft embrace of a friend or the caressing touch of a lover? I couldn't remember my past and the life I lived was that of a drifter. I cared for no one. How quickly that changed one day with a cruel twist of fate.
My first memories: a cold, empty alley, the bite of a chilling drizzle. Yeah, pretty sad huh? I was 9 years old; left in a backstreet in downtown London with no memory and left to fend on my own. It is a human instinct to want the company of another human being. That is why I joined a gang named the Immortals. They raised me in a ring of violence and revenge. It was my refuge. A place to hide from the world's cynical eyes. I nursed my anger during these long years. I had a right to be angry with the world. It had denied me the pleasures of childhood and left me alone to face reality. I trained myself to turn pain into anger, anger into hate, and hate to energy which I poured into my training. Not I tear I shed for my broken life. I was taught to fight, to kill... and not to give a damn about anyone but myself. I was an expert with a gun. I could easily pick off a dove sitting on a rooftop sitting 450 yards away. I was also pretty handy with a knife, but my greatest ally was my heated anger against humanity... and the world.
Anyone who saw me in a crowd would see right away that I don't stick out at all. I am a Caucasian female, about 5' 4" with brown eyes. I have dark brown, shoulder-length hair that is totally straight, but is always tangled and matted due to a lack of combing. Over the years I have begun to dye the end of my ponytail a light gold and have streaked it with red hair dye. I mostly wear black, but on occasion I will wear a dark red or forest green shirt. My ears have been pierced three times and my lip once. Also I wear a 3 in. silver arm band on my left wrist. This was the only memorabilia I have left from my past. It's so tightly put on my wrist that I can neither take it off nor move it up my arm. I also smoke... on occasion... when I'm nervous. So basically I 'm the type of person that a parent would call a "mislead youth" and warn their children to stay away from.
Understand, in my clan there are three levels of status. First, there
were the paiges. They delivered messages between gangs. Most pages
were killed so it would piss off the gang that had sent the page. This
is how the gangs provoked each other to fight. The second level was
the sentinels. They were trained in mostly defensive tactics. Their
job in the gang was to protect the singular leader of the group. (A
quick note about the leader about our leader; you never saw him. Your
orders were delivered by paiges. He was called the Elitist.) The
highest rung, where I worked, was called the Ophiuchus. This word is
Latin for serpent bearer. We were the Elitist's so called assassins.
Anyone who threatened his authority would be "taken out." At least
that's how the public referred to the murders. We knew it was
different. If we allowed the insurgent to thrive they would eventually
take over our clan. That meant death to all of the Ophiuchus. The
cliché, "it was either us or them," states our predicament very well.
Indeed we were those who held the viper which could strike anywhere
and at anytime. This is where I received my "pen-name." Raven. Such as
shown in the poem written by Edgar Allen Poe the Raven is a bird of
mystery and darkness. Its knowledge is of death and the afterlife. The
Raven lives a secret life hidden to outside eyes. Such was I. I worked
the night to my advantage. My victims never saw the attack coming such
as they would never see the light of day. I always worked alone so I
could be the most effective. I could become invisible and I never
failed on an assignment. I was the perfect weapon. The Elitist knew
this and highly valued my presence. He rewarded my work with
materialistic items; money, fine clothing, even my own apartment.
These were fine gifts, but they didn't satisfy my restless soul. I
preferred to sleep out in the night air, under the stars. I felt
uncomfortable and unsafe continually sleeping in the same place (after
all I was wanted in other clans for the deaths of several of their
elite personnel). Maybe it was my conscience reminding of those I had
killed. No, it wasn't that. I had never cared. My heart had hardened
long ago to the horrors of death. It was the dreams. People I didn't
know writhing in pain; screaming. Then bright blue flames would shoot
from the floor engulfing the victims; searing their skin till it fell
off the bone. They melted into ash. Everything in the room has turned
to an ashened gray- the walls, the windows, the creaking floorboards.
I saw in there eyes such innocence, such fear. As if they were
children, unaware of the evils in life. Their pain was so great. Night
after night I witnessed their deaths. They were not quickly killed as
I was used to, but were allowed to suffer. This is probably why it
bothered why it bothered me. This was against all rules of the
Ophiuchus. It was inhumane. There was only one thing that intrigued me
about the dream. Always standing directly behind the dying victims
were three darkly cloaked and masked figures. The person I took
interest in was the one standing behind the other two. He had greasy,
shoulder-length black hair. His eyes were dark and cold yet there was
also something else there. Was it pity, pain? Or was it fear? Fear
like a sinner that is at the end of his life and knows his time of
punishment is close at hand. His face was pale and covered with
perspiration from the extreme stress. His thin lips were pursed
together tightly in angst. I could see his hands visibly shaking. He
was very young, possibly just 18. This was the first time in 7 years I
had felt sympathy towards anyone. As soon as the feeling arose I
quickly stamped it out. Such feelings could not be present in my life.
These dreams increased in intensity. I heard the screams in my waking
hours as well as at night. I tried to squelch them with drugs, yet
they still came. What have I done to deserve this? Is this my
retribution? Their eyes. Such terror. Someone save me from this hell!
My insanity was slipping a little more every time I slept and
witnessed the deaths of the innocent men, women, and children. My soul
cried for deliverance, yet none came. I was driven into wandering day
and night. I ate nothing and slept very little. My concentration waned
and the narcotics I took dulled my senses. My peers began to see my
presence as a hazard to the clan. That is when they sent an Ophiuchus
to my penthouse, but he didn't come as a friend. He came to take my
life. What irony that I should be killed by the very clan I had
served!
I was sitting in one of the reclining chairs, starring into the
darkness of my apartment. That is when I heard the light footsteps
behind me. Luckily it was dark so the Ophiuchus could not see that I
wasn't asleep in my bed. At this point I swiftly crawled across the
burgundy carpet and was able to retrieve the knife I kept under the
dresser. The Ophiuchus stood menacingly over my bed, but unknown to
him I was directly behind him. That is when I attacked; bringing the
knife down and slicing into his shoulder. He screamed, arching his
back with swift bite of my steel. He turned to face me. That was a
stupid move, especially for a trained Ophiuchus. I charged. He made an
attempt to grab my shirt, but I was the swiftest and dropped to the
floor below his grasp. Then using the knife's blade I plunged it into
his calf muscle. My assassin's face was now screwed up with agony. His
mouth moved in motions of a scream, but no sound came forth. The
Ophiuchus eyes were now dialated with the fury of a mad animal forced
to fight for its life. At this point I was without a weapon and had
begun to race towards the stairs that led to the building's roof.
After struggling momentarily with his belt the attacker drew forth a
pistol. He let out a growl of rage before limping after me. On the
roof I hid behind an air conditioner. I had to get out of here, with
my life, but there weren't any fire escapes and I was nine stories up.
I heard the door to the roof slam open. He was there. I could hear his
heavy breathing; his injured foot dragging as walked across the
concrete. That's when I screwed up... big time. I had gotten up in order
to try to move to a safer, more hidden spot; without knowing where my
adversary was.
"Got ya'," the Ophiuchus sneered. I could see hatred glistening in his
eyes. The moonlight showed that he grinning madly.
I stood like a deer in headlights. From here everything happened in
slow motion. He pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet whizzed by
my head nipping the right side of my face. I was not so fortunate on
the second round. It hit me straight in the left shoulder. The impact
sent me reeling backwards. Once again I had been extremely dim-witted
by standing close to the edge of the building. I stumbled and then I
felt the back of my legs hit the foot-high wall surrounding the ledge.
Then I fell. I could see the roof disappearing and the windows
flashing by. I closed my eyes and prepared for the impact. The final
darkness. So, this was the end? The screaming from my dreams began.
Like high winds rattling an old house. A thousand voices shrieking in
eternal damnation. Then a sudden silence. At this point I felt a
burning sensation on my left wrist. A white hot pain that traveled up
my arm until it reached the scalp. My skull felt like it would crack
in half.
Splash! Water? The odd pain was gone, but I needed to get to the
surface for air or I would drown. My mind urged me to swim to the
surface, but my worn body was too exhausted. Besides it didn't matter.
My life was over. I didn't want try anymore. That is when I felt an
arm reach around my waist; it was pulling me upward. I attempted to
see, but found instead that the water was too murky to see my rescuer.
We broke through the surface and I inhaled the sweet essence of the
summer air. I opened my eyes to find I was alone; my savior was gone
and only the darkness remained. After a few agonizing minutes of
swimming I drug myself ashore. The wet, gritty sand stuck to my hair,
clothes, and skin. It stung so much when it touched my bullet wound
that it caused me to moan. Oh stop your whining. This pain is not that
bad. When you fell on the glass... that hurt. Not this. Come on, suck it
up! I could feel and smell my blood oozing from my injury. At this
point I supposed that the bullet had hit a nerve grouping because I
could no longer sense or move my arm. I watched the crimson pool sink
into the sand. With my energy waning I looked up at the silver moon
and twinkling stars that I had watched so many times. Don't give in
Raven. You're stronger than this. But I am so weary. Oh God just let
me go to sleep and not awaken. At least I can have peace in death.
From this point my vision became hazy and I drifted into a semi-sleep
caused by stress and probably my loss of blood. Colors drifted before
my eyes. Shapes and sounds I had never experienced. I felt my body
shaking feverishly; uncontrollably. And then somewhere in the recesses
of my mind something brought me to my senses. I got up as if I was a
dilapidated puppet sloppily controlled by strings. My limbs felt
weighted and I weakly got to my feet. That's when my blurry eyes
beheld the sight of a castle. The turrets grasped the clouds as if
they wished not to be bound to Earth. An infinite number of windows
glowed invitingly and their light was thrown upon the lake creating an
eerie reflection; twisting reality. I cradled my hurt arm as I
staggered toward the castle. Do I wish to take a chance and enter this
citadel? I won't survive long if I don't find something to stop the
bleeding. Jesus! How stupid can you be? Just standing there and giving
him an open shot. Forget that now. Concentrate. Damn, what I wouldn't
do for a stiff drink.
I finally arrived at the huge oak doors of the fortress after climbing
a multitude of steps. Alright, you've sneaked into places that were
heavily guarded this will be a cinch compared to that. Just get in
quickly, find some bandages and maybe some antiseptic, and leave
without being seen. Yes, this will be easy.
I opened the one of the massive doors which to my great displeasure
creaked. Just my luck! The entrance hall was huge. The stone pillars,
which lined the corridor, stretched from the floor all the way to the
ceiling where they curved forming archways. Light was provided by
torches that lined the aisle. When did modern civilization revert back
into the dark ages? I walked into this giant room almost expecting
some baron and his wife to come gliding down the stairs. At the foot
of another flight of stairs was a group of chattering kids. They were
dressed in black robes and uniforms. Oh shit! Did they see me? Quickly
I dove behind a column. I thought over my predicament; I was wearing a
long black duster, jeans, and turtleneck; this was similar to what all
those children were wearing and you can't see blood on all black. The
hole in my clothes, the bullet had made, wasn't extremely noticeable
either. Hmm. What about all that sand? When I looked down I could see
I was still speckled with the minute particles. After gingerly dusting
off my clothes I approached the crowd. Indeed I looked older than most
of the kids, but I hoped they would just overlook that "small"
difference. Through catching bits of conversations I learned this was
a school called Hogwarts. What an odd name for a school. Suddenly, the
group started to filter through a second pair of large wooden doors. I
looked up. I must really be delusional. The sky's inside, or was there
no roof to this building? No, I can see the ceiling... sort of. And
indeed there was the outside sky plastered upon the castle's ceiling,
stars and all. Well I've definitely lost it. They led apparently to
the dining area, because on each side of the walkway there were two
tables set up with what seemed like hundreds of teenagers sitting at
them. Their ages ranged from around 11 to 18. All of their eyes
followed my group's nervous approach to the front of the room. There
in front of us was a table set up where many adults were sitting.
Probably the teachers. At the center of the table was an extremely old
man. His long white beard must have been at least waist length. He was
dressed in deep purple robes that were embroidered with gold thread.
He wore a matching pointed hat. He was staring at us over a pair of
half-moon spectacles. His eyes were like a pair of blue search lights
that could see into your soul and discover your deepest secrets. I
averted my eyes in an attempt not to be noticed. I hope he doesn't see
me. He'll know... he'll know I'm not one of them. Please don't let him
see me. But he did see me and continued to watch me as I walked toward
the table. Now I felt fear... I must run; I must escape. The fear of
being watched by that ancient man took charge of my senses. I began to
back away. I still couldn't break my eyes from his gaze. There was
something alluring, mysterious about this man.
"Hey! You're not from Hogwarts!"
It was one of the young students I had standing next to near the back
of the group. He was a short sandy-haired boy with light brown eyes.
With this comment I could feel all the eyes in the dining room fall
upon me. It went deadly quiet and I could see a few of the teachers
standing up to catch a glimpse of me, the "imposter."
Now I must explain that I had been taught as a young Ophiuchus three
main rules for surviving when infiltrating a foreign or enemy
encampment: Attempt to dress according to the adversary so you can perform your assignment the easier Avoid contact with the opponent If identified exit the facility as quickly as possible and if the most dire of circumstances should prevail... take a hostage
Well, the situation provided itself, so I automatically put into action rule number 3. I grabbed the boy with the sandy hair before anyone had a chance to act against me. Since he happened to be quite short it was easy for me to reach around his neck and secure a tight hold on his windpipe. All of the teachers at the table immediately got up with a start and several gasps of horror could be heard around the room. I began to walk backwards quicker than before. Under me steely hand I could hear the boy spluttering for air. My grip loosened slightly for a dead hostage can be of no use.
Since I did not watch behind while I was walking I wasn't aware of a
pair of 18 year old boys had gotten up from the table to my left and
were standing directly behind me. I didn't know that is until I bumped
into them. The taller of the two reached out and grabbed my injured
shoulder. A torrent of new pain washed over my body causing me to cry
out. I released my captive and struck out with fury; socking him
directly in the nose and hearing the satisfactory crack as I broke it.
Damn he had a hard nose! He might have broken my freakin' knuckles!
He was bent over holding his nose in agony as I pushed past the other
teen. I bolted to the door, and managed to slip through as another
student entered. My sight and mind was so clouded with the piercing
pain I didn't notice the flight of stairs I had just come up earlier.
I fell down stair after stair. My body was tossed about like a rag
doll in a dryer. The repeated impacts inflicted more bruises on my
already battered body. That's about the time I received a tumultuous
blow to the head. I landed face down on the cold, stone floor. The
warmly lit hall faded from my view and was replaced by a cold, empty
void.
Disclaimer: This work humbly uses the imaginative ideas based on the
wonderful books by J.K. Rowling.
Chapter 1
What is a life without love? An empty shell with no fire or feeling left. If you look in their eyes you can see the soul of that person has left and the body itself has become broken. This is the image in which anger, fear, and hate are born. This was me. I had no past, no present, and no future. I carried out orders without thought; like a robot with a metal heart. How could I know the soft embrace of a friend or the caressing touch of a lover? I couldn't remember my past and the life I lived was that of a drifter. I cared for no one. How quickly that changed one day with a cruel twist of fate.
My first memories: a cold, empty alley, the bite of a chilling drizzle. Yeah, pretty sad huh? I was 9 years old; left in a backstreet in downtown London with no memory and left to fend on my own. It is a human instinct to want the company of another human being. That is why I joined a gang named the Immortals. They raised me in a ring of violence and revenge. It was my refuge. A place to hide from the world's cynical eyes. I nursed my anger during these long years. I had a right to be angry with the world. It had denied me the pleasures of childhood and left me alone to face reality. I trained myself to turn pain into anger, anger into hate, and hate to energy which I poured into my training. Not I tear I shed for my broken life. I was taught to fight, to kill... and not to give a damn about anyone but myself. I was an expert with a gun. I could easily pick off a dove sitting on a rooftop sitting 450 yards away. I was also pretty handy with a knife, but my greatest ally was my heated anger against humanity... and the world.
Anyone who saw me in a crowd would see right away that I don't stick out at all. I am a Caucasian female, about 5' 4" with brown eyes. I have dark brown, shoulder-length hair that is totally straight, but is always tangled and matted due to a lack of combing. Over the years I have begun to dye the end of my ponytail a light gold and have streaked it with red hair dye. I mostly wear black, but on occasion I will wear a dark red or forest green shirt. My ears have been pierced three times and my lip once. Also I wear a 3 in. silver arm band on my left wrist. This was the only memorabilia I have left from my past. It's so tightly put on my wrist that I can neither take it off nor move it up my arm. I also smoke... on occasion... when I'm nervous. So basically I 'm the type of person that a parent would call a "mislead youth" and warn their children to stay away from.
Understand, in my clan there are three levels of status. First, there
were the paiges. They delivered messages between gangs. Most pages
were killed so it would piss off the gang that had sent the page. This
is how the gangs provoked each other to fight. The second level was
the sentinels. They were trained in mostly defensive tactics. Their
job in the gang was to protect the singular leader of the group. (A
quick note about the leader about our leader; you never saw him. Your
orders were delivered by paiges. He was called the Elitist.) The
highest rung, where I worked, was called the Ophiuchus. This word is
Latin for serpent bearer. We were the Elitist's so called assassins.
Anyone who threatened his authority would be "taken out." At least
that's how the public referred to the murders. We knew it was
different. If we allowed the insurgent to thrive they would eventually
take over our clan. That meant death to all of the Ophiuchus. The
cliché, "it was either us or them," states our predicament very well.
Indeed we were those who held the viper which could strike anywhere
and at anytime. This is where I received my "pen-name." Raven. Such as
shown in the poem written by Edgar Allen Poe the Raven is a bird of
mystery and darkness. Its knowledge is of death and the afterlife. The
Raven lives a secret life hidden to outside eyes. Such was I. I worked
the night to my advantage. My victims never saw the attack coming such
as they would never see the light of day. I always worked alone so I
could be the most effective. I could become invisible and I never
failed on an assignment. I was the perfect weapon. The Elitist knew
this and highly valued my presence. He rewarded my work with
materialistic items; money, fine clothing, even my own apartment.
These were fine gifts, but they didn't satisfy my restless soul. I
preferred to sleep out in the night air, under the stars. I felt
uncomfortable and unsafe continually sleeping in the same place (after
all I was wanted in other clans for the deaths of several of their
elite personnel). Maybe it was my conscience reminding of those I had
killed. No, it wasn't that. I had never cared. My heart had hardened
long ago to the horrors of death. It was the dreams. People I didn't
know writhing in pain; screaming. Then bright blue flames would shoot
from the floor engulfing the victims; searing their skin till it fell
off the bone. They melted into ash. Everything in the room has turned
to an ashened gray- the walls, the windows, the creaking floorboards.
I saw in there eyes such innocence, such fear. As if they were
children, unaware of the evils in life. Their pain was so great. Night
after night I witnessed their deaths. They were not quickly killed as
I was used to, but were allowed to suffer. This is probably why it
bothered why it bothered me. This was against all rules of the
Ophiuchus. It was inhumane. There was only one thing that intrigued me
about the dream. Always standing directly behind the dying victims
were three darkly cloaked and masked figures. The person I took
interest in was the one standing behind the other two. He had greasy,
shoulder-length black hair. His eyes were dark and cold yet there was
also something else there. Was it pity, pain? Or was it fear? Fear
like a sinner that is at the end of his life and knows his time of
punishment is close at hand. His face was pale and covered with
perspiration from the extreme stress. His thin lips were pursed
together tightly in angst. I could see his hands visibly shaking. He
was very young, possibly just 18. This was the first time in 7 years I
had felt sympathy towards anyone. As soon as the feeling arose I
quickly stamped it out. Such feelings could not be present in my life.
These dreams increased in intensity. I heard the screams in my waking
hours as well as at night. I tried to squelch them with drugs, yet
they still came. What have I done to deserve this? Is this my
retribution? Their eyes. Such terror. Someone save me from this hell!
My insanity was slipping a little more every time I slept and
witnessed the deaths of the innocent men, women, and children. My soul
cried for deliverance, yet none came. I was driven into wandering day
and night. I ate nothing and slept very little. My concentration waned
and the narcotics I took dulled my senses. My peers began to see my
presence as a hazard to the clan. That is when they sent an Ophiuchus
to my penthouse, but he didn't come as a friend. He came to take my
life. What irony that I should be killed by the very clan I had
served!
I was sitting in one of the reclining chairs, starring into the
darkness of my apartment. That is when I heard the light footsteps
behind me. Luckily it was dark so the Ophiuchus could not see that I
wasn't asleep in my bed. At this point I swiftly crawled across the
burgundy carpet and was able to retrieve the knife I kept under the
dresser. The Ophiuchus stood menacingly over my bed, but unknown to
him I was directly behind him. That is when I attacked; bringing the
knife down and slicing into his shoulder. He screamed, arching his
back with swift bite of my steel. He turned to face me. That was a
stupid move, especially for a trained Ophiuchus. I charged. He made an
attempt to grab my shirt, but I was the swiftest and dropped to the
floor below his grasp. Then using the knife's blade I plunged it into
his calf muscle. My assassin's face was now screwed up with agony. His
mouth moved in motions of a scream, but no sound came forth. The
Ophiuchus eyes were now dialated with the fury of a mad animal forced
to fight for its life. At this point I was without a weapon and had
begun to race towards the stairs that led to the building's roof.
After struggling momentarily with his belt the attacker drew forth a
pistol. He let out a growl of rage before limping after me. On the
roof I hid behind an air conditioner. I had to get out of here, with
my life, but there weren't any fire escapes and I was nine stories up.
I heard the door to the roof slam open. He was there. I could hear his
heavy breathing; his injured foot dragging as walked across the
concrete. That's when I screwed up... big time. I had gotten up in order
to try to move to a safer, more hidden spot; without knowing where my
adversary was.
"Got ya'," the Ophiuchus sneered. I could see hatred glistening in his
eyes. The moonlight showed that he grinning madly.
I stood like a deer in headlights. From here everything happened in
slow motion. He pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet whizzed by
my head nipping the right side of my face. I was not so fortunate on
the second round. It hit me straight in the left shoulder. The impact
sent me reeling backwards. Once again I had been extremely dim-witted
by standing close to the edge of the building. I stumbled and then I
felt the back of my legs hit the foot-high wall surrounding the ledge.
Then I fell. I could see the roof disappearing and the windows
flashing by. I closed my eyes and prepared for the impact. The final
darkness. So, this was the end? The screaming from my dreams began.
Like high winds rattling an old house. A thousand voices shrieking in
eternal damnation. Then a sudden silence. At this point I felt a
burning sensation on my left wrist. A white hot pain that traveled up
my arm until it reached the scalp. My skull felt like it would crack
in half.
Splash! Water? The odd pain was gone, but I needed to get to the
surface for air or I would drown. My mind urged me to swim to the
surface, but my worn body was too exhausted. Besides it didn't matter.
My life was over. I didn't want try anymore. That is when I felt an
arm reach around my waist; it was pulling me upward. I attempted to
see, but found instead that the water was too murky to see my rescuer.
We broke through the surface and I inhaled the sweet essence of the
summer air. I opened my eyes to find I was alone; my savior was gone
and only the darkness remained. After a few agonizing minutes of
swimming I drug myself ashore. The wet, gritty sand stuck to my hair,
clothes, and skin. It stung so much when it touched my bullet wound
that it caused me to moan. Oh stop your whining. This pain is not that
bad. When you fell on the glass... that hurt. Not this. Come on, suck it
up! I could feel and smell my blood oozing from my injury. At this
point I supposed that the bullet had hit a nerve grouping because I
could no longer sense or move my arm. I watched the crimson pool sink
into the sand. With my energy waning I looked up at the silver moon
and twinkling stars that I had watched so many times. Don't give in
Raven. You're stronger than this. But I am so weary. Oh God just let
me go to sleep and not awaken. At least I can have peace in death.
From this point my vision became hazy and I drifted into a semi-sleep
caused by stress and probably my loss of blood. Colors drifted before
my eyes. Shapes and sounds I had never experienced. I felt my body
shaking feverishly; uncontrollably. And then somewhere in the recesses
of my mind something brought me to my senses. I got up as if I was a
dilapidated puppet sloppily controlled by strings. My limbs felt
weighted and I weakly got to my feet. That's when my blurry eyes
beheld the sight of a castle. The turrets grasped the clouds as if
they wished not to be bound to Earth. An infinite number of windows
glowed invitingly and their light was thrown upon the lake creating an
eerie reflection; twisting reality. I cradled my hurt arm as I
staggered toward the castle. Do I wish to take a chance and enter this
citadel? I won't survive long if I don't find something to stop the
bleeding. Jesus! How stupid can you be? Just standing there and giving
him an open shot. Forget that now. Concentrate. Damn, what I wouldn't
do for a stiff drink.
I finally arrived at the huge oak doors of the fortress after climbing
a multitude of steps. Alright, you've sneaked into places that were
heavily guarded this will be a cinch compared to that. Just get in
quickly, find some bandages and maybe some antiseptic, and leave
without being seen. Yes, this will be easy.
I opened the one of the massive doors which to my great displeasure
creaked. Just my luck! The entrance hall was huge. The stone pillars,
which lined the corridor, stretched from the floor all the way to the
ceiling where they curved forming archways. Light was provided by
torches that lined the aisle. When did modern civilization revert back
into the dark ages? I walked into this giant room almost expecting
some baron and his wife to come gliding down the stairs. At the foot
of another flight of stairs was a group of chattering kids. They were
dressed in black robes and uniforms. Oh shit! Did they see me? Quickly
I dove behind a column. I thought over my predicament; I was wearing a
long black duster, jeans, and turtleneck; this was similar to what all
those children were wearing and you can't see blood on all black. The
hole in my clothes, the bullet had made, wasn't extremely noticeable
either. Hmm. What about all that sand? When I looked down I could see
I was still speckled with the minute particles. After gingerly dusting
off my clothes I approached the crowd. Indeed I looked older than most
of the kids, but I hoped they would just overlook that "small"
difference. Through catching bits of conversations I learned this was
a school called Hogwarts. What an odd name for a school. Suddenly, the
group started to filter through a second pair of large wooden doors. I
looked up. I must really be delusional. The sky's inside, or was there
no roof to this building? No, I can see the ceiling... sort of. And
indeed there was the outside sky plastered upon the castle's ceiling,
stars and all. Well I've definitely lost it. They led apparently to
the dining area, because on each side of the walkway there were two
tables set up with what seemed like hundreds of teenagers sitting at
them. Their ages ranged from around 11 to 18. All of their eyes
followed my group's nervous approach to the front of the room. There
in front of us was a table set up where many adults were sitting.
Probably the teachers. At the center of the table was an extremely old
man. His long white beard must have been at least waist length. He was
dressed in deep purple robes that were embroidered with gold thread.
He wore a matching pointed hat. He was staring at us over a pair of
half-moon spectacles. His eyes were like a pair of blue search lights
that could see into your soul and discover your deepest secrets. I
averted my eyes in an attempt not to be noticed. I hope he doesn't see
me. He'll know... he'll know I'm not one of them. Please don't let him
see me. But he did see me and continued to watch me as I walked toward
the table. Now I felt fear... I must run; I must escape. The fear of
being watched by that ancient man took charge of my senses. I began to
back away. I still couldn't break my eyes from his gaze. There was
something alluring, mysterious about this man.
"Hey! You're not from Hogwarts!"
It was one of the young students I had standing next to near the back
of the group. He was a short sandy-haired boy with light brown eyes.
With this comment I could feel all the eyes in the dining room fall
upon me. It went deadly quiet and I could see a few of the teachers
standing up to catch a glimpse of me, the "imposter."
Now I must explain that I had been taught as a young Ophiuchus three
main rules for surviving when infiltrating a foreign or enemy
encampment: Attempt to dress according to the adversary so you can perform your assignment the easier Avoid contact with the opponent If identified exit the facility as quickly as possible and if the most dire of circumstances should prevail... take a hostage
Well, the situation provided itself, so I automatically put into action rule number 3. I grabbed the boy with the sandy hair before anyone had a chance to act against me. Since he happened to be quite short it was easy for me to reach around his neck and secure a tight hold on his windpipe. All of the teachers at the table immediately got up with a start and several gasps of horror could be heard around the room. I began to walk backwards quicker than before. Under me steely hand I could hear the boy spluttering for air. My grip loosened slightly for a dead hostage can be of no use.
Since I did not watch behind while I was walking I wasn't aware of a
pair of 18 year old boys had gotten up from the table to my left and
were standing directly behind me. I didn't know that is until I bumped
into them. The taller of the two reached out and grabbed my injured
shoulder. A torrent of new pain washed over my body causing me to cry
out. I released my captive and struck out with fury; socking him
directly in the nose and hearing the satisfactory crack as I broke it.
Damn he had a hard nose! He might have broken my freakin' knuckles!
He was bent over holding his nose in agony as I pushed past the other
teen. I bolted to the door, and managed to slip through as another
student entered. My sight and mind was so clouded with the piercing
pain I didn't notice the flight of stairs I had just come up earlier.
I fell down stair after stair. My body was tossed about like a rag
doll in a dryer. The repeated impacts inflicted more bruises on my
already battered body. That's about the time I received a tumultuous
blow to the head. I landed face down on the cold, stone floor. The
warmly lit hall faded from my view and was replaced by a cold, empty
void.